I'm fine, dammit!
by rsharpe
Summary: Everyone on Atlantis is worried about John. Do they know something he doesn't?


**TITLE: "I'm fine, dammit!"**

**AUTHOR: Rita**

**FANDOM: Stargate Atlantis**

**DISCLAIMER: Not mine, dammit!**

**PAIRING: John/Rodney**

**RATING: Rated (PG13) Teen for language, some mild sexual situations**

**SPOILERS: None. **

**WARNINGS: None.**

**A/N: Prompt and explanation at end of fic. **

**So far it had been a Terrible, Awful, No-Good, Very Bad Day. Quite an accomplishment since it wasn't quite 03:00. It was also a little irritating that the childish phrase that Madi Miller had used to describe a difficult day at school had stuck in John's mind. Of course, he was a little groggy from being woken out of a sound sleep so that mantra was a good enough substitute to mutter softly instead of some of the more colorful expletives that usually came to mind when he was rousted out of a warm bed and away from an even warmer body. His COM had chirped and summoned him to the Gateroom for what had been deemed an emergency by one of the newer Marines on duty. Hopefully, since McKay's COM hadn't gone off this was probably a false alarm by someone too eager to yet have acquired good sense about waking up a commanding officer. **

**He pulled on his pants and slid his bare feet into his boots, not bothering with slipping on his socks or lacing his boots up. With any luck at all, he'd be sliding out of them in a few minutes. He'd been sleeping in a tee shirt and boxers, so he was out of the room quickly. Somehow he made it to his destination without completely waking up. Luckily, there was no emergency. A console in the control room that was inactive unless it was being accessed by an operator had suddenly beeped loudly several times then the display lit up like a Christmas tree. In spite of the reassurances of the technician on duty, Cpl. Martin Simmons had panicked and called his commanding officer anyway since he'd been told that if there was a serious problem with Ancient tech, Col. Sheppard was the best at accessing the situation. **

**After listening to Karl, one of the senior night shift techs, explain that the console had activated only because it was collating new sensor data that had automatically been input, he turned to Cpl. Simmons, who was standing at attention so stiffly that John was worried that his spine might snap, and considered his options. He could tear the terrified man a new one, but he'd never enjoyed being under that kind of commander and he certainly didn't want to be considered as one of "those" now. He wasn't going to yell at the Cpl. over a simple mistake. Instead, he calmly told Simmons that if a situation arose again when he was on guard duty in the Gateroom to please just listen to the technician manning the controls before calling anyone. All the techs had been trained by McKay himself, and if the tech on duty wasn't concerned than there was nothing to be concerned about. He was careful to emphasize anyone. **Simmons saluted and considered himself lucky to get off so easily for basically giving a false alarm and waking up his commanding officer at 0-Dark Thirty.

Simmons had never dealt directly with Col. Sheppard before, although he'd been assured that the Colonel was an easy going guy. Any of the commanders he'd served under in the past would have had him on KP or scrubbing toilets with the tiniest toothbrush that could be found for the rest of his life . . . after subjecting him to a truly epic round of cursing him, his ancestors and his progeny to the tenth generation. Of course Colonel Sheppard was a Flyboy and certainly couldn't attain the infamous vocabulary of a chewing out that a Jarhead could. Simmons sighed, considered himself a lucky son of a bitch, and swore he'd certainly never make that mistake again.

John checked with Karl at the main controls one more time to be sure nothing else was likely to do anything alarming. After assuring John that all was well, Karl gave him a worried look.

"Are you feeling all right, Col. Sheppard? You've not been looking well the past few days."

"I'm fine. Just a little early for this much excitement."

"If you say so, Sir."

John made his way out of the Gateroom and in the direction of Rodney's quarters, hoping to at least crawl back into bed for a few more minutes before he started the day. Karl questioning his health was bothering him. As a matter of fact, it was downright irritating how often in the past few days he'd been asked the same damm thing by a number of people. Not just Beckett, he expected the doctor to inquire how he was at random intervals. But a few of the Marines, some of the scientists, Major Lorne, Elizabeth, even people he didn't know that well kept inquiring how he was feeling. What the hell was going on? He really did feel fine. Okay, right now he felt a little tired and sleepy, but that was because of the early hour.

John paused at Rodney's door for a moment when it occurred to him that Rodney was the only person who *hadn't* asked him if he was all right. Rodney, who was not only a hypochondriac himself, but continually reminded everyone around him about alien germs and possible unknown diseases and was convinced that he was dying of some rare Pegasus virus at least once a day. That meant something, something that was important, something he should know. But no matter how important, it was just out of his grasp, hanging somewhere barely beyond his reach. His sleep addled mind attempted to attach some meaning to Rodney's *not* asking what everyone else was but he just couldn't quite get it clear. He pushed the thought away, but it still remained in the back of his mind. He knew it would surface later and he'd ask Rodney about it. But right now, there was a warm bed with Rodney waiting in it.

Shrugging the thought away, he waved his hand over the control strip and the door slid open to reveal that Rodney hadn't so much as stirred when he'd slipped out and pulled his BDUs and boots on. He divested himself of them quicker than he'd donned them and lifted up the blankets to burrow next to Rodney. A sleepy "Mmhhmm" was the only response he got so he settled back in and adjusted his body to curl around his partner in his preferred position, his front to Rodney's back. John had found that he was particularly fond of the soft hair at the nape of Rodney's neck that curled slightly when he'd gone too long without a haircut. Now he snuggled there and breathed in Rodney's unique scent. John snorted softly as he imagined trying to describe the Essence of Rodney to someone at a perfume store counter, especially one of the ritzy ones that his father favored, the ones that mixed fragrances to the customer's order. "Coffee as a base note, with Ancient machinery lubrication, burnt plastic and top notes of sweat, MREs and chocolate chip power bars." Smiling softly at the whimsy of his admittedly overactive imagination, he was warm and asleep between one breath and the next.

The alarm went off about two seconds later, or it seemed like two seconds. He'd set it fairly early so he could be back in his quarters to change for his run with Ronon. Rodney must have been sleeping more soundly than usual. He'd gotten to bed late because of some experiment that had required watching closely and he'd seemed exhausted. They hadn't done more than kiss languidly before they'd drifted off to sleep, Rodney snoring lightly and drooling into his pillow. Now he didn't move even when John dropped a soft kiss on his temple before he left again. Usually he'd at least make an uncoordinated grab for John and a mumbled request to stay.

If John spent the night with Rodney, he always left well before anyone that mattered would be awake and moving through the corridors. There were security patrols, of course, but no one would question him. His men would just assume he had been called out for some reason and any scientists racing through the corridors that early were either returning from all-nighters or trying to get an early start in their labs and ignored everything else.

Rodney wasn't particularly happy about John insisting on leaving so damm early, but there was taking chances discreetly and there was being stupid. Dangerously stupid. John might be in charge of Atlantis, but he was still military. American military. Rodney was very, very important to him and John hated making him unhappy but he literally had no choice.

Since he'd already been awake for a few minutes, he was standing outside his door stretching to warm up a little while he waited for Ronon to show up eager as a puppy to run. Ronon loped up, took a long look at John, and asked him if he was feeling well enough for a run this morning.

"Not again, dammit! I feel fucking fine and I wish everyone would stop asking me that!"

Ronon backed off, holding his hands up in mock surrender and started their run. They alternated routes and it was the relatively difficult course this morning. As usual Ronon showed no mercy, but John determinedly kept up with the younger man every step of the way. He didn't even stop halfway through for a water break and they finished back at John's quarters in record time. Ronon gave him a grunt which could have meant anything, slapped him on the shoulder and disappeared off somewhere, probably to his quarters to clean up before joining the team in the mess hall.

John showered quickly and changed. He mourned the fact that he'd used all of the excellent shampoo he'd smuggled back after his last trip to Earth with the other products he'd managed to secret among his clothes. He hated the military issue shit. Everything from toilet paper to soap and shampoo was purchased from the lowest bidder, damm the quality. He'd bet a lot of money that the bastards in charge didn't have to use the military issue supplies. He'd swear that half the time the toilet paper had been made from recycled Brillo.

After roughly toweling his hair, he regretfully squeezed the few drops of hair gel remaining in his last bottle onto his fingers and attempted to tame the cowlicks that had tormented him his entire life. Without the expensive stuff to work it's magic, part of his unruly hair lay flat, making the sections of cowlicks that did stand stiffly up look even worse than usual. He wasn't exactly vain about his hair but he did spend more time than he should attempting to arrange it in some semblance of order. Sighing, he resigned himself to not being able to do much with it other than ignore it.

Rearranging the contents of what the Ancients presumably had used as a medicine cabinet, he carefully propped the gel bottle upright between a bottle of mouthwash and a tube of toothpaste in the hope that a drop or two might drain to the bottom. He still hadn't come up with any ideas of how to requisition more under a creative name or for a legitimate purpose. No matter how he worded it, hair products were still hair products. Especially the expensive brands of shampoo, gel and hair cream he preferred. There was no way a requisition of luxury items that weren't necessary and required would bypass the bean counters at the SGC. Additionally, as a member of the Air Force who were all automatically assumed by the Marines to be latte drinking, Mama's boys, slackers and whiners, he'd be laughed at throughout the halls of Stargate Command. Supposedly, he could order the hair products as personal items but he knew that the listing would be passed around not only on Atlantis, but at the SGC. The request would then have to go through the Accounting Department and he'd be ridiculed for the rest of his life. He gave one last pensive look in the mirror at his partially flattened and decidedly cow licked hair and sighed resignedly. At least there was only a little gray at his temples and his hair was still very thick.

Recalling all the comments about his well-being, he looked himself over carefully in the mirror as he shaved. Dammit, he looked fine. He wasn't pale or flushed with fever. No dark circles under his eyes. After a few weeks of relatively quiet missions, he'd even pretty much caught up with sleep. Maybe this was some weird Pegasus thing or someone's idea of a practical joke. Well, if it was a joke, it wasn't particularly funny the first hundred times and if he found out who had started it . . .

Breakfast was next on the agenda and he was forced to move through the line in slow motion. Each server seemed concerned that he had enough of every single item and filled his tray accordingly. He knew he couldn't eat that much. Well, either Rodney or Ronon would help him out.

He wandered over to the team table, beating everyone there but Teyla. She greeted him, then paused to study him for a few moments before she asked the inevitable question. Again. If it had been anyone but Teyla, there would have been language unsuitable for all but the stoutest hearted Marines, but he refrained from answering her polite inquiry with anything other than an equally polite, "I'm fine. In fact, I feel great." It was the same answer he'd given her each time she'd asked.

Teyla inclined her head and replied in her usual calm manner, "As you say."

Just as John prepared to find out exactly what she meant, Ronon and Rodney arrived simultaneously. Both had piled their trays high and if Teyla and John hadn't assisted them to set the food down very, very carefully most of it would have ended up on the floor. Or, with John's luck lately, in his lap. And as far as he could remember, these were either his last clean pair of BDUs or the next to last.

After watching the Rodney and Ronon show of "who can eat the most and be the messiest while doing it", John had completely forgotten all the inquiries into his health and his decision to waylay Rodney to see what he knew about it and why he hadn't been asking.

"Hey, the Daedalus is scheduled to get here this afternoon, isn't it?"

"McKay! Finish whatever you've got in your mouth before you gross out the whole mess hall."

Rodney gave John a wounded look, but it didn't stop him from continuing.

"Maybe we'll get some of the equipment and supplies that've been on back-order for months!"

"Rodney, you're pretty excited about getting new equipment for the lab. Or were you waiting for something personal?"

Rodney couldn't lie worth a damm. No wonder he never played poker. His every thought showed on his face and John and everyone else could read him like a book.

"So, something personal?"

"Well, Colonel, some of us like to do other things with our tiny bits of spare time besides reading one and one-half pages of _War and Peace."_

"So, you ordered porn?"

Rodney sputtered indignantly and puffed up with embarrassment while turning various shades of red but refused to be baited into answering.

John immediately realized what he'd said, just as Teyla opened her mouth to inquire what porn was and John just hung his head in shame.

"I'm sorry, Teyla. That wasn't a polite thing to say. Uh . . . I'll let Rodney explain it to you."

And John, knowing that sometimes a strategic retreat was the only option available, grabbed his tray and headed for the bussing station. He could hear Ronon's rumbling laughter and Rodney's outraged squawks of indignation all the way down the hall and into the transporter. He figured his own face would return to a normal shade within five minutes or so.

Since the _Daedalus _should be arriving sometime after lunch that meant that Col. Caldwell would be lurking around the Gateroom and Elizabeth's office. John would probably have to put in an appearance for at least a half-hour or so for an informal report. Anything of significance would have been sent through the gate during the weekly data bursts, so hopefully he could duck out even earlier unless Caldwell had hard copies of anything for him.

So . . . that meant he'd best be doing something that looked vaguely official. Right. His office it was, then. Even though Lorne did more than his share of paperwork (in what was supposed to be a paperless institution) there would be at least a few things he could work on. Damm, he wished he'd had time to grab another cup of coffee before his hasty retreat from the mess hall. He idly wondered what explanation Rodney had come up with for the porn question.

(&)(&)(&)(&)(&)

Four hours and three questions about his health later, John was ready to shoot somebody. With Ronon's blaster. Lorne had anticipated that John would hide out in his office and came by with a small stack of forms and reports for his signature. Everyone else just "dropped by" to chat for a minute and apparently see if he'd developed any new symptoms of whatever the hell he was supposedly suffering from.

Just as he decided that Caldwell or not there had to be a balcony or a room on one of the lower levels he could convince Atlantis to hide him in his COM beeped annoyingly. And of course, speak of the devil.

"Col. Sheppard? Could you come to Dr. Weir's office?"

"Yes, Sir. I'll be right there."

Now what? The last thing he needed was to put up with Caldwell when he was already almost homicidal. He took a few deep breaths, pasted on his totally fake "Good to see you again, Sir" smile and marched to what he hoped wasn't his doom.

Surprisingly, he made it to Elizabeth's office without any more inquiries about his non-existent illness. Caldwell was laughing with Elizabeth about something with rare good humor for him. There were a few brown paper wrapped parcels scattered on her desk and Elizabeth appeared to be going over some sort of check list. She looked up expectantly when John paused at her office door.

"John, I hope we weren't interrupting anything?"

"Nothing I can't get back to. I was just reviewing reports."

Caldwell nodded at John's entrance but remained seated. Apparently, he was going to be informal today which was a nice change. John had always heard that the phrase "by the book" had been invented for Caldwell because he was usually so strict about rules and regulations that he'd probably written most of the damm thing himself.

"Well, we won't keep you long. In addition to our regular supply shipment, there were quite a few personal packages that arrived today. I've managed to get in touch with everyone except Rodney. Radek answered for him and he's supervising a simulation in the "clean room" and Radek said he can't interrupt him while the simulation is still running. Would you mind taking his package and getting it to him when he's finished? I didn't want to just send it to the lab since it's likely to get lost in the confusion down there."

"Sure. He's probably ordered some physics journals or something. I'll either find him later or just put it in his room."

"Thank you, John. I'd hate for any physics journals that Rodney ordered personally to be mislaid. Sometimes I think one of his greatest pleasures in life is to sit down with a new journal and his red pen of doom."

"No problem. Was there anything else, Elizabeth? Col. Caldwell?"

Both of them shook their heads so John picked up the package which was heavier than it looked. Huh, maybe it really was porn. With that thought, his face colored again.

Elizabeth and Caldwell gave him amused looks, but quickly went back to whatever they'd been doing as he got the hell out of there, considering himself lucky they hadn't asked him why he looked embarrassed if he thought that Rodney was just ordering scientific journals.

Carrying the package and looking as though he was on an important errand got him safely back to his office. He put the package on the seat of one of his visitor's chairs and promptly forgot about it.

(&)(&)(&)(&)(&)

After another hour either reading AARs or pretending to, John had reached his limit of office work. He'd missed the regular hours for lunch but he knew that the staff would have left wrapped sandwiches, fruit and other snacks for the late comers. Since their supplies had been replenished today, the kitchen personnel would be industriously working on something special for the evening meal so John swung by and grabbed a sandwich and a bottle of water to tide him over until then. He considered going back to his office but saw no point in staring at his laptop and knowing that he wouldn't get any further work done. And he just wasn't in the mood for Spider Solitaire, Minesweeper or Freecell. So he went to one of his favorite balconies in an out of the way area.

John had only had time to open his water and partially unwrap the sandwich when his COM beeped. Bearing in mind that Caldwell might still be around, he squashed his impulse to respond with a smartass remark and merely ground out, "Sheppard".

It wasn't Caldwell, but the possibility for aggravation was still there.

Rodney inquired, "What the hell put you in such a bad mood?"

Realizing that Rodney had hailed him on an open channel, John just sighed heavily.

"I see. You're in one of your teenage angst moods and you're hiding somewhere sulking. I wouldn't be surprised to find you wearing eyeliner and chains since you've already got the all black Goth look going."

"McKay! Did you want something or are you just being irritating to be irritating?"

"I was expecting something from the _Daedalus _today as you know and Elizabeth said she gave the package to you to hold for me. Do you still have it or did you throw it off the balcony you're unsuccessfully hiding on in a fit of angst?"

"What's so important about the package? Is it really porn?"

"Your true age is showing. What are you, really? About 12?"

"I'll have you know I'm at least 14. I suppose you want the damm package right now?"

"Not right now, no. I'm still running a simulation. Could you bring it by after dinner? I hear we're having real food tonight."

"Sure. I'll even let you tell me how "wrong, wrong, sooooo very wrong" some of the journal articles are."

"Yes, well, that sounds fine. See you then if I miss you at dinner. McKay out."

John continued unwrapping his sandwich and took a bite. He grimaced, spit it back and rewrapped it immediately. Whatever it was supposed to be, it wasn't good. And that was the opinion of someone who'd had to survive on MREs and the occasional off-world meal consisting of things he tried to neither look at too closely or think about. Ever. Not to mention some of the things he'd consumed during the time he was slogging though the sands of Afghanistan not knowing if he was going to be found by his troops or the Taliban. Hell, even the Taliban had thrown him a few edible scraps between the questioning and the beatings.

Wishing he'd snagged an apple, he settled for his bottle of water. Wouldn't hurt him to miss a meal no matter that Beckett still accused him of being underweight.

(&)(&)(&)(&)(&)

The kitchen staff had certainly outdone themselves at dinner. Anytime the _Daedalus _delivered food from Earth, you could be sure that everyone showed up for the meal. John went early since all he'd had was what breakfast he'd been able to consume before the infamous "porn remark", half a cup of coffee, a couple of bottles of water and the bite of the sandwich which he'd promptly spit out, before unwrapping it and tossing it in the ocean, hoping it wouldn't kill anything.

This time he didn't object when his tray was filled to overflowing. He weaved through the full tables to find that both Ronon and Teyla had managed to beat him there. There was no sign of Rodney yet, but he was sure that he'd show up soon.

After they'd gotten about halfway through their meal, John seriously began to wonder where Rodney was. It just wasn't like him to miss the first meal after the _Daedalus _had arrived with fresh supplies. He was surprised when Teyla told him that Rodney had been there, eaten, and left again. He hadn't even gone back for seconds, which Teyla thought was unusual. She assumed that he'd had to be back in his lab for some reason. John just shrugged and assumed the same. Rodney had mentioned running some simulations that were time consuming.

With his stomach almost achingly full and no questions about how he was feeling, John was in a much better mood than he'd been in for days. His only wish would have been for a beer later after his meal had settled. After saying good night to Ronon and Teyla (and very carefully not mentioning anything about porn), he bussed his tray and stealthy added two real chocolate cupcakes wrapped in plastic to his jacket pockets. Since he hadn't heard anything else from Rodney he headed back to his office to retrieve the mysterious package. There'd been no other communication with Caldwell so he figured he was safe for the evening. Maybe the rumor mill in Atlantis

was true and Elizabeth and Caldwell had been spending more time together than their duties required.

(&)(&)(&)(&)(&)

With the speed Rodney's door swished open before he'd even run his hand over the strip, and the way Rodney was almost bouncing in place, he assumed caution and only entered far enough into the room so that he could make a quick escape if this turned out of be a joke of some sort.

But Rodney ushered him in and motioned for him to put the package on the bed which was the only uncluttered surface available. Honestly, did the man actually *need* three laptops.

"So, well, open it already!"

"Rodney, I thought the package was yours."

"Well, I did order it but I ordered it for you."

"It had better not really be porn."

"Oh, for the love of . . . Just open it already. I've been waiting for this all day!"

John approached the package as if it were a bomb. Or at the very least a gag gift or something that was going to explode in his face or embarrass him in some other way he hadn't thought of yet.

He withdrew his KA BAR and gingerly slit the tape. There were several sheets of bubble wrap followed by some crumpled up and no doubt out of date newspapers. He laid the packing aside carefully while Rodney continued doing what was either a dance of glee or he really had to go to the bathroom badly.

Underneath another layer of transparent packing material, John could already see the distinctive blue bottles of Moroccanoil. He moved the next layer of bubble wrap and lifted each bottle reverently, placing them on the bed in silent awe.

"Oh, buddy, how did you know . . .

"How did I know or how did I do it? Or would you like to know both?"

John just nodded his head because speech was way beyond him at the moment.

"Well, I might have, sorta, maybe gone into your quarters when you weren't there."

"Rodney, we talked about this."

"Don't interrupt! And since I was already there, I may have investigated the contents of your bathroom for purely scientific reasons, of course."

"Rodney . . . "

"And, well, I may have noticed the type of bottles that were in the medicine cabinet which, in my defense, was open where anyone could see."

Giving up on getting the story without the added Rodneyisms, John made himself comfortable on the bed. Carefully, setting aside the Moroccanoil containers to avoid damage.

"And I noticed that all of the bottles were almost empty. In fact, they were propped up so that the last drops could drain to the top. Thus, my theory was borne out."

"Theory?"

"Yes! I put together the fact that your special hair products were almost gone and that'd you'd been moping around for days looking like a little kid who'd just been told that there wasn't going to be anything for Christmas this year, plus your undoubtedly sentient hair was showing signs of pouting right along with you and . . . "

"Rodney, what did you do?"

"Oh, well, I enlisted Jeannie, of course. She located a supplier in Vancouver and made the purchase for me. I knew that no one would really inspect a package from Jeannie since she periodically sends me those awful vegan cookies and I'll have you know that I owe her an unspecified favor and, knowing her, she'll want another car or . . . "

This time the Rodneyisms were cut short by John's lips and he only drew back enough to say "Thank you" several times before carefully removing the box, packing material and the precious Moroccanoil to a safe distance before using the bed for the purpose it was intended.

The next morning when the alarm went off, Rodney got his wish as John turned it off and snuggled back into place before Rodney even managed to murmur his surprise.

Later that day, John was relieved that comments about his well-being had disappeared to be replaced by compliments.

Rodney was surprised that all it took for John to stay and snuggle was a little unauthorized snooping, a cooperative sister, an unspecified favor the next time he and John visited and the judicious use of the Atlantis rumor mill and the time stamp on certain security cameras.

- fin -

PROMPT AND EXPLANATION: Prompted by constant disparaging remarks from my Significant Other that there is no way that Joe Flanigan doesn't spend hours with a gaggle of assistants, hairstylists and a ton of expensive products to get his hair to do that casual "spiky thing".


End file.
